Who is John Henry?

BOSTON — The prospective new owner of the Telegram & Gazette is one of those public people who does a pretty good job of making sure he has a private life, too.

John Henry has been around town long enough, though, to leave a trail of bread crumbs that can lead the baseball fans, and now newspaper readers, of New England to some conclusions.

Such as:

He does not like cold weather.

He does not feel obligated to do things the way they have always been done.

He knows when to get out of the way.

A lot of what is important to know about Henry was revealed in his first few days as principal owner of the Red Sox.

While the outline of his purchase of the franchise — for about $700 million — in December 2001 was in place when the team opened spring training in Fort Myers in 2002, the particulars had not been nailed down. Anyone who has been to the closing for a $200,000 house can imagine the paperwork involved in buying one of the greatest franchises in American sports.

So, in February 2002, Henry was in Fort Myers, Fla., with partner Larry Lucchino waiting for adviser David Ginsberg to finalize the sale back in Boston. On Feb. 27, Henry and Lucchino joined members of the media at a cookout at the team's minor league facility, both expecting to hear from Ginsberg any minute.

It was one of those cold Florida days, though, when 55 degrees felt like 25 because it was supposed to be 75. After a couple of bites from cold hot dogs, Henry and Lucchino took off for the warmth of the owner's box at City of Palms Park, a pack of reporters following.

Not long after that, Ginsberg called and the window of the owner's box opened, a hand came out with its thumb up, and Henry owned the Red Sox.

The day before, though, was even more telling in terms of where the Sox might be headed under Henry. He was at batting practice on one of the fields and spotted some wide-eyed young fans watching the big leaguers hit. Henry asked bench coach Mike Stanley to give him a hand with something and the two rounded up hats and gloves for the kids and let them go into the outfield to track down stray fly balls.

This was unprecedented. Under the hidebound Yawkey administration, no commoner could step on Red Sox grass. Anyone who did would have needed a rabies shot, because the guard dogs would have been unleashed.

It was the first tangible evidence that things were going to be different in Boston baseball.

Allowing the kids on the field was symbolic, but minor. More substantial changes followed as time went on. After taking stock of things through 2002, Henry hired Theo Epstein as the youngest general manager in baseball and began plans to retool Fenway Park and turn it into a revenue machine.

Improvements that the previous ownership said were impossible — putting seats on top of the left field wall, for instance — were routinely accomplished. Henry spent money on the ballpark, but also spent it on acquiring players and rebuilding the farm system.

While Henry was a hands-on owner, he let his baseball people make the baseball decisions. In 2004, the Red Sox and new manager Terry Francona got off to a fast start and through 50 games were 31-19, in first place in the AL East.

After that, the team sank into mediocrity, going 21-25 in a span of 46 games, falling 9½ games out of first. After one loss at Fenway, Henry and Lucchino debated the team's future while in the owner's box. Henry thought the Sox would come out of their slump in time; Lucchino thought the roster needed a shake-up.

Lucchino's argument prevailed, the Nomar Garciaparra trade followed and in October, the Red Sox won their first world championship in 86 seasons.

It had been less than three years since the kids were allowed to chase fly balls in Fort Myers.